It's Almost Shakespearean
by Chasing Rabbits
Summary: Kyle and Butters use each other as a means to an end, placeholders for the boys they love. Never in a million years would they have imagined those boys reciprocate their feelings. An unabashadly lighthearted gay romp. Byle; Bunny; Style
1. Part One

Kyle doesn't know exactly how it happened, only that it did.

One day, he looked at his best friend and concluded with a displeased churn of his stomach that he was in love.

He just hoped he didn't come off as stupid as Butters did every time he talked to Kenny.

Or looked at Kenny.

Or even stood next to Kenny.

And now he's at Token's stupid graduation party, long since abandoned by both Kenny and Stan, faking sick in one of the bedrooms upstairs.

Maybe he's not faking, though. Every time he saw Stan tonight, he had his hands further and further up Red's shirt, and she had her tongue deeper and deeper down his throat. If anything has ever made him queasy beyond all comprehension, it was definitely that.

The door to the room opens and interrupts his brooding.

"Oh, sorry," comes Butters' voice. "I was lookin' for the bathroom… you okay?"

"Fine," Kyle grunts and turns over, facing away from the door. "Just don't feel well."

"Oh," Butters says. "Well, um. D-d'you need anything? I was just lookin' for some aspirin anyway."

"No, I'm fine," Kyle snaps back a tad too harshly, and rolls over to see Butters still standing in the doorway. "Parties are just overwhelming. I don't know why I came."

"I know what you mean," Butters nods. "My head can't take crowds sometimes, I start goin' nuts."

Kyle sighs and, against his better judgment says, "You can come in if you want. I'm not doing anything."

"Thanks," Butters gives him a smile and comes to sit on the bed beside him. "Sorry if I'm bein' intrusive."

"Don't worry about it," Kyle sits up and rubs at his temples. His stomach still hurts, and now his brain throbs unpleasantly against his skull.

"You sure you're okay?" Butters asks. It's so genuine and well-meaning that Kyle can't come back with a snide remark, he just can't. But he also doesn't expect, "Do you ever hate how much you like Kenny?" to come out of his mouth either.

This seems to catch Butters off guard, and for a few moments he just sits there, mouth opening and shutting like a guppy, as he searches for the answer.

"I don't know," he replies finally. "Maybe? I never thought about it like that. I just like him. Why?"

Kyle sighs and hides his face in his hands. Everything in his body feels like it's going to explode, like his intestines will pop out at any moment and his brain will burst out of his ears. He looks up at Butters and says, "You have to fucking swear you're not going to tell anyone."

Butters eyes him for a second before he sighs and asks, "Is this about you havin' a crush on Stan?"

Well, motherfucker.

Kyle tugs at his hair and pulls as hard as he can. "Please tell me that no one else fucking knows about this," he pleads, and Butters shrugs.

"I don't know what other people know, Kyle," he comes back very plainly. "I haven't said anything to anyone about it if that's what you mean." When Kyle doesn't respond he continues, "I gotta say, I didn't expect you'd be that way."

"I'm not gay," Kyle snaps. "I just… like dudes sometimes."

Butters, to his credit, pulls off one of the most magnificent eye rolls Kyle has ever seen.

"Kyle, no one cares if you like boys or not," he shakes his head. "And what's the big deal anyway? You don't care what people think. People always assume you and Stan sleep together, you never tell them off… well, not anymore."

"I would've had an aneurysm a long time ago if I'd kept doing that," Kyle sighs and scratches his fingernails through his hair. Stan helped him buzz it all off on midnight of his eighteenth birthday a few weeks ago—needless to say, his mother had been less than pleased ("You are _so _lucky you already took your school photos, young man… what am I going to tell my sister about your graduation pictures?!").

Stan said he thought it looked good, and Kyle is more than happy to finally be rid of that goddamned fucking shitbag hair.

"Look," Butters fiddles with his fingers. "You don't have to be gay if you don't want. But it really is okay that you like boys, you know."

"I know," Kyle snaps. He's filled to the brim with tolerance, thank you. "I don't know if it's guys in general or if it's just Stan, okay? I've liked girls. Fuck, I've had girlfriends."

"So," Butters shrugs. "Doesn't mean you can't like boys too, or have a boyfriend if you wanted."

"Butters, I don't fucking know, okay?" Kyle shoots back again. "It's already fucked enough as it is having a boner for your best friend and knowing you can't do anything about it without adding all that on top of it."

"No one's sayin' it's not," Butters offers. "Figuring that part out might help, though."

"I have no fucking clue what you're talking about," Kyle says after a few moments, and Butters rolls his eyes again.

"If you like boys in general or just the one," he explains and crosses his legs on the bedspread. "You ever watched two boys before?"

"No, I haven't watched two guys before," Kyle returns, hugging his knees to his chest. "Watch them do what?"

"I don't know!" Butters exclaims. "Butt stuff? Suckin' each other off? Guy stuff."

Kyle snorts, "Sorry dude, but watching a twink beat off on my computer doesn't really do it for me."

"What about in real life?" Butters asks very simply, so normal and so nonchalant that Kyle almost doesn't catch it.

Except he does, and then he turns a deep, deep red.

"Wh—what?"

"You wanna see me naked?" Butters offers this time, and Kyle has to pause to take inventory of the terrible life decisions that have brought him to this moment.

It's not that Butters isn't attractive—Kyle knows he is. He maybe wouldn't call him handsome, like Stan, but he's cute Kyle supposes.

"Dude, that's kind of weird," he just says, but Butters shrugs.

"Not really," he hums. "Not if you don't want it to be. I've been naked in front of other people before. It's kinda fun."

"Even if I'm not naked too?" Kyle raises an eyebrow. Butters shrugs again and fiddles with the hem of his t-shirt.

"Doesn't matter to me," he concludes and then flicks his gaze up to meet Kyle's. He's got these big blue eyes—bluer than Stan's and much lighter than Kenny's—and Kyle finds himself nodding when he asks, "Is that a 'yes'?"

"Yeah," Kyle gulps. "It'd be good to know. For, y'know… things."

Excitement bubbles in his chest—when did that start?—as Butters reaches back and tugs his shirt over his head. It's been a while since Kyle has seen Butters in any state of undress, but he doesn't remember him being so…

Kyle can't think.

That's a problem.

Butters doesn't hesitate in undressing either. Like he's alone, he undoes his pants and pulls them off, tossing them into a pile with his shirt. Then he stands and, with his back to Kyle, slides out of his underwear (which have Snoopy and Woodstock from The Peanuts on them).

Butters has an absolutely fantastic ass.

It's round, and he's got these two dimples right above that Kyle wants more than anything to press his thumbs into as he thrusts into—

Oh.

… _oh._

"Okay," Kyle declares. "I've seen all I need to."

Butters turns around at that, and yep, Kyle is done.

He's just fucking done.

"What?" Butters asks when Kyle averts his eyes.

"Your dick is, like, a foot away from my face," Kyle explains.

"Is that a problem?" Butters prompts.

"Um," Kyle looks up at the ceiling, feeling a blush creep up the back of his neck. "Kind of the opposite."

"Oh," Butters chuckles and looks down at his hands. "Well, I-I reckon you could touch me if you really wanted."

That does get Kyle's attention. He looks up at Butters and gulps. He must be bright red now, but Butters doesn't say anything about it. Instead he walks back over to the door and locks it with a definitive _click_.

When he walks back, Kyle reaches out a hesitant hand and draws his fingers over the slight definition in Butters' stomach. It's exciting, though, and when Butters takes in a sharp breath it goes right to Kyle's dick.

It seems to be having the same effect on Butters, too. As Kyle's hands roam over him, Butters gets harder and harder. And not that Kyle has seen any dicks before, but he thinks Butters' might be pretty nice.

God, _how is this happening right now_?

"Y-y'know," Butters' voice trembles as Kyle teases his fingertips through the happy trail of thick blonde hair just below his bellybutton. "We… we could fool around."

"We could," Kyle nods and looks up at him. His cheeks are pink and his eyes are glassy, and it makes Kyle's blood get hot. "I just… I don't know if—this kind of stuff is supposed to mean something, isn't it?"

"It can," Butters nods. "But that doesn't mean it has to. Sometimes it's nice to blow off steam… especially when you can't have who you want."

Kyle's thoughts get fuzzier, and suddenly that comes off like a very sound piece of logic. Plus, Stan always tells him he shouldn't think so much, and this seems like one of those times where he can apply that.

He pulls off his own shirt and tosses it to the side, followed quickly by his pants and shoes and socks, all in a flurry of fabric and rubber and leather that ends all too soon.

And now he's naked.

He's naked and hard with Butters just the same in front of him.

Kyle pulls Butters onto the bed and gets him into a position so that he's on top, hands on either side of Butters' head.

He kisses him, and fights the immediate urge to pull back. Brain working or not, this is still Butters, and this whole thing is kind of strange.

If he tries to imagine it's Stan below him, it kind of works, but Butters smells like… not Stan. Stan is always sweaty and musky under his deodorant and soap, and Butters doesn't smell like any of those things.

But then Butters' hand wraps around their dicks and it doesn't matter.

"_Fuck_," he mutters.

A salacious grin creeps up on Butters' face as he strokes, asking, "What should we do?"

"I-I don't know," Kyle stammers as Butters' hand works over them. He didn't know how he'd handle a surplus of dick, but he thinks this will work out quite nicely indeed.

"I could suck you off," Butters offers. "Or we could keep doin' this. Or you could fuck me if you really wanted. I'd like that."

"No," Kyle quickly shakes his head. "I mean—I wouldn't want to... Do-doesn't that shit hurt?"

"Yeah," Butters shrugs. Kyle seems to be enjoying this particular thing much more than Butters, even though Butters' eyelids flutter and his full lips part just slightly.

Kyle bends and kisses him again, and Butters moans softly against him.

He must like kissing or something.

"You," Butters gulps when they part, raising his eyebrows. "You wanna be on bottom?"

"Oh, hell no," Kyle sits up then, mildly affronted. "You're not putting your dick in me, fuckwit."

"That's not always what bein' on the bottom is," Butters takes to pointing out, and before Kyle knows what's happening he's on his back, pressed into the bedspread as Butters rolls their hips together. "I could just sit on your cock right now and ride you 'til you didn't remember your name."

"What?" Kyle's voice cracks. He was until just now 99-percent sure Butters didn't know half of those words.

"Or I could just do this 'til you come," Butters rolls his hips again. He pushes his floppy blonde hair off of his forehead and sits up. "You want the first?"

Kyle nods vehemently, and has to punctuate with an impatient "Yes, Jesus!" before Butters springs into action. He pulls two things out of a pocket in his jeans: a tiny tube of lube and a condom.

Kyle watches as Butters silently crawls back up onto the bed and squeezes the thick substance onto his fingers. He's never seen anyone do this before, not even in porn, and Butters is apparently the type that likes to put on a show. Flat on his back, he slides his fingers deftly inside, losing himself in his own touch. In fact, Kyle thinks that he might forget just what it is he's supposed to be doing when he grabs his dick and starts making those noises again.

"Dude!" he exclaims, and Butters returns to life here on earth. He blushes slightly, lips quirking up into a smile, and apologizes before he opens up the condom and slides it onto Kyle.

"Try not to move too much 'til I say," Butters warns as he climbs over him, and Kyle barely has time to process the request before Butters' tight heat sinks down onto him.

"Holy shit," Kyle squeezes his eyes shut. His hips twitch of their own accord, and even though he tries his best he still ends up thrusting too sharply before Butters is ready.

"God damn it," Butters whines and hangs his head. "Kyle, I said not to."

"Sorry," Kyle gulps. "I couldn't help it, sorry. Are you okay?"

"Yeah," Butters readjusts (which feels beyond amazing). "Just… don't move until I do."

It feels like forever until Kyle gets the go ahead. His body and his brain have officially severed ties: while all his body wants to do is give into its primal urges, his brain is trying its best to keep it from hurting Butters.

Butters, who is obviously not as innocent as he appears; whose ass is absolutely fantastic; whose blonde hair isn't black and whose eyes can't give him _that special look_.

"Okay," Butters' boyish face scrunches up as he comes up and sinks back down again.

And now Kyle's body officially takes over—it doesn't matter who he's thrusting into, it's just happening and it's a fucking relief.

Relief like scratching an old scab, or finally being able to pee after holding it for way too long. It serves a purpose, but that's all the sense Kyle's brain will make of it. This serves a purpose.

A nice purpose, and a necessary one, but it feels hollow.

Butters and Kyle move against each other, Butters trying to keep his sweat off of Kyle and Kyle trying not to go hog-wild and fuck up as hard and as fast as he can.

It takes a little while, but Kyle finally gets that familiar warmth in his gut and that token curl in his toes. "I'm close," he musters up, and Butters wordlessly grabs his hand and brings it to his dick. Kyle's body falls in line quickly and starts jerking Butters off to the haphazard rhythm of his thrusts.

Kyle comes first, bucking up so hard that Butters loses his balance and ends up nearly smacking his forehead into Kyle's nose. It takes a little longer, but Kyle gets Butters to come too. It gets all over his stomach and hand, and Butters makes a weird noise when it hits him, but Kyle is intrigued enough that he doesn't mind.

He's never made a guy come before.

He's made girls come before, but this is gratifying in a different way.

It's still unclear whether this is good or bad.

"You okay?" he finally pipes up, and Butters nods.

"Yeah," he huffs and pushes himself up and off of Kyle. "You?"

"Yeah," Kyle nods dumbly and sits up. He pulls the condom off of himself and buries it at the bottom of the trash can by the night stand.

Kyle grabs his underwear off the floor and steps back into them, getting dressed again piece by piece. "Um," he begins. "Don't tell anyone about this."

Butters sits up at that and raises his eyebrows. "Is that an order or a request?"

"A request," Kyle rolls his eyes. "No need to get yourself into a snit about it… Will you put some pants on or something?"

"Mm," Butters stretches out on the comforters. "I like bein' naked. And I think you like it too."

Kyle flips him off and sits back on the bed. A deafening silence stretches between them for a while before Butters finally arches up and rolls off the bed. "All right," he sighs, "I'll put on my clothes."

"Fuck," Kyle puts his face in his hands.

"Why so blue?" Butters asks as he tucks himself back into his underwear and pants. "Hey… Hey, what's with the tears?"

"What are you talking about?" Kyle looks up and, to his horror, feels two hot streams of water leak down his cheeks. "Holy shit, dude," he swipes and dries and tries to tip them back into his face. It's no use, though—they keep coming and Kyle can't fucking believe that this is happening _now _of all times.

"Aw, Kyle," Butters tuts as he pulls his shirt over his head and sits beside him. "You weren't… that wasn't your first time, was it?"

"Fuck off," Kyle snaps. "I'm not a virgin."

"Well," Butters considers. "In a way you sorta were. You'd never had sex with a boy before. It's a special thing—"

"Oh, my god, we are not having this conversation, just shut up," Kyle hunches over. He feels very sick all of a sudden.

He just had sex with Butters.

Like… _Butters_.

"All right," Butters pats him on the shoulder. "I got my mom's car here, you want me to take you home?"

"I'm Stan and Kenny's DD," Kyle groans.

"Nope," Butters shakes his head. "I am now. You weren't feelin' well enough to stay. C'mon, I'll have you home in no time."

Kyle looks over at Butters and, with a last swipe over his face, mops up any stray tears before he and Butters leave the room.

They don't speak on the way back to Kyle's—Kyle doesn't even think they say goodnight—and once Kyle is upstairs in his room he collapses on his bed and tries to convince himself that when he wakes up it all will have been a dream.


	2. Part Two

Kyle spends two days in the house without talking to anyone outside his immediate family. Alone time is easier to come by now that his mom is spearheading the South Park chapters of "Moms against Texting and Driving", which is good because mom would kill him if she ever found his stash of emergency cigarettes. He keeps them in a lock box with his spare cash and social security number, and so as long as he keeps the Lysol handy he can smoke in his room without too much trouble.

This is also particularly helpful when Kenny comes over unannounced with his pipe and a big fat smile on his face. Kyle brings him up to his room and locks the door (and puts a towel under the crack) just in case Ike gets sneaky, letting out a breath as Kenny starts packing the pipe full.

"So, what's with you?" Kenny asks without preamble. He's not the type to beat around the bush when it comes to this kind of thing. He's a little less frank with Stan and Butters, but he knows how Kyle works.

"Nothing's with me," Kyle shrugs, though he knows full well that Kenny knows better than that. He rolls his eyes when Kenny shoots him a look and scratches at the back of his neck. "I'll tell you after."

"Fair enough," Kenny shrugs and hands him the intricately detailed pipe. He collects them and has tried time and time again to get Kyle invested in conversations about glasswork, but Kyle always refuses. The effect of the weed is a bigger concern than the pipe it comes in, now more than ever.

"So, what's with you?" Kenny repeats as Kyle inhales a large puff of acrid smoke. Kyle holds it for as long as he can before he exhales on a cough and socks Kenny on the shoulder.

"I said after, not during," he wheezes, and Kenny shrugs.

"Whatever, man," he says. "I'm here on behalf of your youthful ward anyway."

When Kyle frowns, Kenny explains, "Stan was worried about you, but he's helping his mom with a garage sale."

"Nice," Kyle scoffs. "That has to fall in line with 'I wanted to go out with you but I was washing my hair'."

"Oh, god," Kenny takes his lips off the end of the pipe. "Is this about your boner for Stan?"

"Jesus Christ!" Kyle exclaims. "Does everyone know about this?"

"Everyone but Stan, sure," Kenny shrugs. "You know his head's up his ass half the time."

Kyle whines and rubs his eyes under his thick glasses. He hasn't bothered with his contacts at all this weekend—the want nor the need has not risen.

"I'm such a fucking mess, dude," he confesses as warm air fills up his head like a giant balloon.

"Why, 'cause you like dick?" Kenny raises an eyebrow and gestures with the pipe, "Lots of people like dick. Hell, I kinda like dick sometimes. Nothing wrong with it; sexuality's a continuum, not a box… you need me to keep going or can I take a hit?"

"Go," Kyle waves him ahead. Kenny gives a salute and finishes off what's in the pipe with a deep sucking sound before he sets it on Kyle's dresser and flops down next to him.

"Look," Kenny begins, "You know we love you just the same, right?"

"I had sex with Butters," Kyle blurts out before his brain can catch up to his mouth and stop it.

"What?!" Kenny yelps and sits up. "That's—_why_?"

"He's not ugly," Kyle shrugs, still staring up at the ceiling.

"No, it's not that, it's just," Kenny pauses. "You don't like Butters."

"Sure I do," Kyle frowns. "I must… right?"

"Why _must _you?" Kenny raises an eyebrow—the one with the piercing looped right through the arch.

"Because I didn't hate it," Kyle tries to explain. "Like, it was gratifying, y'know? It wouldn't be like having sex with Cartman."

"Well, I imagine the gravitational pull alone would be different," Kenny concedes. "But… Butters?"

"Don't even fucking fool yourself," Kyle stuffs his arms behind his head and gives Kenny a meaningful look. "That little fucker might look innocent, but he knows what the shit he's doing."

"What'd you guys do?" Kenny crosses his legs, looking more than intrigued now. Kyle finds it in himself to sit up and copy Kenny. Kenny doesn't freak out when he smokes pot, but Kyle sometimes does: if he copies Kenny maybe he won't freak out.

"Why do you want to know?" he comes back, a little more like a teenage girl than he intends, and Kenny rightfully socks him hard on the shoulder.

"Because you're boldly going where I've never gone before and I want to fucking know," Kenny explains. "Now tell me how big his dick is. That jackass walks around like he's got the fucking Washington Monument swinging between his legs."

That makes Kyle laugh harder than it should, and he rubs his temples under his glasses.

"I don't know," he admits. "It was nice, though."

It's totally queer saying that out loud, but he doesn't give a shit. As much as his brain doesn't want to believe that he did it, his body still gets excited when he remembers.

"What'd you guys do?" Kenny presses. Kyle gives Kenny as explicit a recount as he can muster without turning bright red, his heart exploding, or getting a monster boner.

"I think I'm gonna do it again," Kyle concludes, not looking directly at Kenny.

"Seriously?" Kenny's eyes get big. "He was that good?"

"It was terrible," Kyle shakes his head and looks at Kenny again. "But if he wants to do it again, I'm down. Sex is sex, right?"

"Why was it terrible?" Kenny pulls a baggie of M&Ms out of his pocket and extends it to Kyle.

Kyle shakes his head before responding, "It was just… Butters. I didn't feel anything, you know? Like, remember when you told me about you and Bebe, and you told me it was transcendent?"

"I told you never to talk about that," Kenny warns sharply. "No one can know I've got '_transcendent'_ in my arsenal. I've got a rep to uphold."

"Yeah, okay," Kyle mocks back, turning his attention now to a loose thread on his comforter. "It'd be different with someone else. But what am I supposed to do? Stan's just… whatever."

"I assume talking to him about it is out of the question," Kenny nods back.

"Let's not resort to drastic measures," Kyle holds up a hand. "Like, it's scary, dude. Stan is my fucking best friend—if I messed that up, I'd be pissed. I can't make new friends at my age, that's way too much effort."

"Don't worry," Kenny pats him on the shoulder. "Your personality is way too much of a shitbag for people to seek your friendship outright."

"Thanks," Kyle deadpans. "You really know how to cheer a guy up."

"Why don't you just go cry into Butters' ass about it," Kenny snorts and leans back on his hands.

"Ha-ha," Kyle flips him off. "See? Not everyone resorts to drastic measures like talking. Butters and I had an understanding… Maybe. I should ask him."

"About what?" Kenny asks with this complacent look on his face. Butters and Kenny are close, and even though Kenny started out pretending he hated it, Kyle can tell he likes knowing everything about Butters.

Except he doesn't know one thing.

The one thing Kyle has to bite his lips to keep inside.

"Oh shit," Kenny perks up. "Motherfucker, you know something, don't you?"

Kyle shakes his head, but that's not enough to deter Kenny.

"Come on, Broflovski," he goads. "You wanna tell me, I know you do."

"I do, but—"

"Don't feed me your bullshit, spit it out."

"Butters is in love with you, fuck!" Kyle shouts and immediately claps his hands over his mouth.

Shit.

Acid roils around in his stomach as he watches the cogs work up behind Kenny's eyes. This was a fucking terrible idea—he knows he doesn't like smoking pot exactly because of situations like this and he _does it anyway_.

That's the definition of insanity.

"Butters is in love with me?" he parrots back. Kyle nods, hands still pressed firmly over his lips. "Why do you know that?"

"Everyone knows it," Kyle shrugs. "I kind of thought you… like, suspected, at least."

Kenny shakes his head.

"Why would I suspect that?" he asks. "I—he's Butters."

"I don't know," Kyle looks down at his knees. "Fuck, don't tell him I told you anything, all right? I just—I know he's not gonna kick my ass or anything, but like. That wasn't any of my business to tell you, I should've just stayed out of it."

"Dude, relax," Kenny gives a firm shake of his head, snapping himself out of whatever headspace he's in. "I'm not telling anyone, believe me."

"You tricked me with your wiles," Kyle accuses then, and Kenny rolls his eyes.

"Bitch, look at me," he gestures to his baggy clothing and general grunge. "Even if I had any wiles, what makes you think I'd waste them on your sorry ass?"

Kyle raises an eyebrow. "If you're gonna waste your wiles on any part of me, I think my ass is your best bet."

"You really could bounce a quarter off that goddamned thing," Kenny gives a wistful sigh and tries to manhandle Kyle into turning over. The nice thing about whatever Kenny gives him is that it loosens him up and mellows him out. The only other person he's ever smoked with has been Stan, with some pot they found in Randy's sock drawer. With that stuff, Stan had to pull Kyle away from cleaning the bathroom when he threatened to scour the tile with Shelly's old toothbrush.

"You're not mad, though?" Kyle asks when they finally settle, both splayed out on the bed like ragdolls.

"Why would I be mad?" Kenny cocks his head. "No one did anything wrong. Unless you count lusting after my slammin' bod a crime."

"Not in this state," Kyle snorts and rubs his hands over his face. "Just, like… promise you won't tell Stan, all right?"

Kenny scoffs, "What, that you want his dick? Yeah, that's not a conversation I'm willing to have, thank you very much. You're gonna have to confess to Little Mary Sunshine all by yourself."

Kyle scrubs his hands through his hair and sighs.

"Fantastic."

"Bet your ass it's fantastic," Kenny pushes himself up from the bed and stretches. "Look, you're both off to college in a few months anyway. You could potentially get out of this unscathed if you wanted. Just make it 'til September—"

"I leave for college in August, Kenny, but that's okay," Kyle yawns. "Knowing that would mean you were listening."

"The point is," Kenny socks him on the arm. "You and Stan have been friends forever. Best case scenario? You hook up all summer, have jenk Skype sex during school, marathon fuck every time you're on break, and for how long… three, four years? I mean, I hate to be the practical one, but that's obviously what has to happen."

"Wow," Kyle suddenly feels very cold. "That's, um."

"What?"

"I'm gonna be honest with you, dude, that was a real fucking bummer," Kyle props himself up on his elbows, though it takes much more effort than normal and he gives up halfway through.

"Gah, sorry," Kenny smacks himself on the forehead. "I just remembered I gotta go help my dad with our roof. He's gonna be pissed if I'm not there, y'know? Are you… you okay on your own?"

"Oh," Kyle frowns at his ceiling. "I guess, yeah. You should go get to your dad. I'll talk to you later, I guess. And thanks for coming over and getting me stoned. You're a real pal."

"Well, just remember not to make any enemies when you're running for office one day and you'll be fine," Kenny shrugs. "You sure you're all right?"

"A-Okay," Kyle gives a thumbs-up. "Good luck with your dad."

"Thanks," Kenny nods, and like that he's gone.

**oo**

"Stan!"

Stan looks up from counting Mrs. Johansson's money to where Kenny collapses wheezing in front of his little cashier's table.

"Dude, where's the fire?" Stan raises his eyebrows and keeps leafing through the cash.

Kenny's gaze flits up to Mrs. Johansson, like he doesn't want to say whatever's on the tip of his tongue in front of her, and gives her a toothy grin instead.

And then he's overcome by a coughing fit and Stan pushes the old lamp into Mrs. Johansson's hands so he can help Kenny to his feet.

"Shit, do you need water, dude?"

Kenny nods, so Stan runs into the house and returns quickly with a chipped up Bronco's mug.

"Is that for sale?" asks Craig as he passes them.

"No it's not for fucking sale, Tucker," Kenny gasps. "That's why I'm drinking out of it."

"Didn't know if you were demonstrating the floor model," Craig shrugs and looks over at Stan. "Got any LPs or anything?"

"Yeah, over by the desk," Stan redirects him and sits beside Kenny on the steps. "What's up, dude? Did you just come from Kyle's?"

Kenny just nods, and Stan pats him on the back, only to retract his hand a moment later.

"Dude, you're drenched," he pulls a face. "I know it's hot out and everything, but you gotta lay off the smoking, man, if you're this out of shape."

"Don't," Kenny hunches over, clutching at his side. "Don't tell me how to live, Marsh."

"Why'd you run here?" Stan leans forward on his knees. "Is—shit, is Kyle okay?"

"He's fine," Kenny nods. "I kind of bailed out too early though."

"Why?" Stan asks, lips quirked up in a smile. "He didn't try to straighten all the pictures in the hallway again, did he?"

"No," Kenny gulps. "Nothing like that. Um, do you know anything about this whole Butters being in love with me thing? Because if you could elaborate on that, that would be excellent."

Stan's eyebrows fly up into his hair. Apart from the fact that Butters would never have the balls to come out and tell Kenny that for himself, Kenny claps a hand over his eyes as he tries to steady his breathing.

"Dude, are you freaking out?" Stan asks.

"Why no, Stanley," Kenny returns levelly, "What makes you say that."

"Okay, fine," Stan rolls his eyes. "Did… How'd you find out?"

"Kyle told me," Kenny sighs and sits up straight again, finally breathing evenly. "You promise you won't freak out if I tell you?"

"Tell me what?"

Kenny leans back on his elbows and sets the mug down behind Stan, heaving a breath before he admits just loudly enough for Stan to hear, "Butters and Kyle fucked at Token's party."

Stan's stomach goes sour.

And then when the picture crops up in his head, he can't help the face he makes.

"Dude, what the hell," he mutters. "I don't even think I can be mad. Like… how the hell does that even work?"

"Ugh, I know," Kenny shakes his head. "I genuinely have no idea. Nor did I have any idea that Butters knew what a dick was, let alone how to ride one."

Now there's a _very_ clear picture in Stan's head that makes him feel ill.

"Dude," he pinches the bridge of his nose. "Not okay."

"I know," Kenny shudders beside him. "Like… Butters and I are cool, man. If he'd come to me and told me he was DTF, I'd've hopped on that train. Maybe. Probably."

Stan turns to him gives him a look—it's not nearly as effective as a Kyle look, but it's pretty damn close. It gets Kenny to whine and scrub at his eyes with his hands, anyway.

"It's Butters!" he finally attempts to rationalize. "He's just… such a fucking Melvin still, y'know? And I love 'im and everything but he doesn't tell me jack shit about his sex life—I just assumed he didn't have one, you know?"

"That's a dangerous thing to assume," Stan shakes his head. "Never, ever assume that. Nine times out of ten that gets you an eyeful of wrinkly ass and saggy balls."

Kenny laughs so hard that he can't stop, even after Stan smacks him over the head.

"It's not fucking funny," Stan snaps. "That's like, the last memory I have of my grandpa. It's not okay."

"What the hell do you think old people do in retirement homes?" Kenny finally gasps. "I fully intend to fuck myself ragged when I'm old as shit. No one expects you to do anything else."

Stan rolls his eyes and opens his mouth to speak, except before he can he has a few customers who are waiting to buy a bunch of their old junk. By the time he returns, Kenny looks far too invested in fiddling with the mug for his own good.

When Stan comes back to sit beside him, he shifts away slightly.

"Dude, you're freaking me out," Stan leans back. "It's not like you've never fooled around with a dude before."

"Yeah," Craig reappears, holding two records in his hand. "Not like you've never fooled around with a dude before."

"Craig," Kenny warns.

"What the fuck ever dude," Craig rolls his eyes and hands Stan a ten dollar bill. "Your mom said I could have 'em, five each."

"Awesome," Stan takes the money and turns back to Kenny, who waits until Craig is well and gone before he starts talking again.

"I know I've fucked around with dudes before," he takes a deep breath. "Fuck, I told Butters all about that, too. Like… I just feel bad now, y'know? If I'd known, I wouldn't have told him. I'd—fuck, I don't know."

Stan grabs at the toes of his sneakers and blows at the sweat beading on his forehead. There's so little he can say to that, especially since he's been too much of a chicken shit to nut up and tell Kyle how he feels.

His stomach churns and immediately Stan shakes the thought right out of his head.

That's not the issue right now.

"Would you fuck Butters?" he asks very frankly, because that is a very important question, even if Kenny's answer is usually pretty predictable.

"Yeah, I mean," Kenny shifts. "I would, I guess. But… I don't know, like—we're friends. If I slept with him I'd—_Fuck!"_

Kenny hides his face in his hands.

"Whoa, dude," Stan blinks. "Um… don't beat yourself up about it?"

Stan sits and awkwardly pats Kenny on the back while he takes deep breaths in and out. Finally, after the long stretch of minutes that Stan silently reassures his neighbors Kenny is all right, Kenny straightens up and sighs.

"Is this how you feel about Kyle?" Kenny asks.

And they're doing this.

Wonderful.

"Does it feel sort of like someone's putting your entire chest in a meat grinder?" Stan scratches at the back of his neck.

"More like I swallowed a live grenade," Kenny mumbles grimly with an air of staggering accuracy. "And I'm waiting for it to go off."

"Dude, it sucks, I know," Stan wipes his palms on his shorts. "But, like, Butters likes you back. That's at least something, you know? If you said you wanted to fool around—"

"I wouldn't want to fool around with him," Kenny rolls his eyes. "Have you seen the idiots I fool around with? Present company excluded."

"Gee, thanks," Stan drones back.

"I couldn't just sleep with Butters like that," Kenny rubs his temples. "I mean—we're friends. Good friends. I tell him everything. If I fuck that up who am I supposed to go to?"

"Me?" Stan offers. "Kyle?"

"It's not the same," Kenny shakes his head, and even though that hits Stan close to his chest, he gets it. He doesn't know what he'd do if he lost Kyle like that, which is really why he hasn't gone and been forthright to begin with.

"I'm sorry, dude," Stan pats him on the shoulder again. "Look, when the customers start dwindling, we can do a lonely hearts thing or whatever—bottle of booze, some weed, my basement… sound good?"

"Not really," Kenny shakes his head and rests his forehead on his sharp, bony knees.

"You wanna just sit here and brood?"

Kenny doesn't respond, but Stan figures that's enough of a reply. He gives Kenny a final squeeze on the shoulder and rolls to his feet.

Mrs. Stotch looks like she needs to be helped anyway.


	3. Part Three

Butters gets a call from Kyle that is 50% silence, 49% garbled nonsense, and 1% a desperate plea to come over. Odd, considering Butters had no idea Kyle even had his number in his cell phone, but why wouldn't he call Stan to come over? Or Kenny?

Being who he is, though, Butters puts his book down, slips on his sandals, and heads to Kyle's. It's nice and warm outside, perfect for a walk. Butters enjoys the earthy smells of early summertime and sunshine, even though it makes people like Dougie go crazy with allergies.

When he gets to Kyle's he knocks on the front door, but no one answers. He rings the doorbell, but still he gets the same response. After a good five minutes of waiting, Butters moves to turn the doorknob, only Kyle just then decides to finally answer.

"Hey, Butters," he grins warmly, and Butters' first instinct is to run the other way. Then he sees the trademark red around his eyes and easy demeanor and Butters gives a nod.

"Kenny come over an' smoke with you?" he asks.

"Yup," Kyle nods and steps aside so Butters can come in. The Broflovski house is neat, though not obsessively so like Butters' house is. There's a pair of shoes by the couch and a backpack by the stairs, which would not fly with Butters' mom at all.

"You feelin' okay?" Butters asks when Kyle reaches out a hand to steady himself on Butters' shoulder.

"Fine," Kyle nods. "Kenny's stuff just hits me hard sometimes. You want anything to drink?"

"I'm all right," Butters pushes his sunglasses up on top of his head and crosses his arms. "What'd you call me over for, exactly?"

"Um," Kyle's eyes roll off to the side. "You wanna make out?"

"Uh, not really, no," Butters raises his eyebrows. "You call me over here for a half-baked booty call?"

"No," Kyle insists, and then falters, "Maybe."

"All right," Butters sighs and backs Kyle up to the couch, sitting him down. "I think your best bet is to sleep it off. That's what Kenny always tells me."

"Oh god," Kyle squeezes his eyes shut, rubbing them with the heels of his hands. "I did something bad."

Butters pauses, and though he's not one to lose his cool too quickly, he can't help but ask, "What did you do?"

"I told Kenny you like him," Kyle whines, though he doesn't move. "It just kind of came out, dude, I didn't mean to."

"Oh," Butters feels the weight on his shoulders press down harder on him, like the world's rotation has slowed. Part of him wants to be mad, to punch Kyle directly in the face and walk out without another word; mostly, though, he wants to curl up under the coffee table and never come out.

"I—why would you tell him that?" Butters asks then, eyebrows pinched together.

"I don't know," Kyle shrugs. "We were talking and I told him about the other night and it just sort of… came out, I guess?"

Butters rubs his hands over his face and groans.

Great.

This is just… great.

"Quite a conversationalist," Butters sighs. "Burned through your topics pretty fast if you got to that."

"Dude," Kyle makes a halfhearted swat at him. "Dude, don't make me feel any worse than I already do, okay?"

"Sorry, it's just kinda hard to gauge your empathy, Kyle," Butters shakes his head.

"What the fuck does that mean?"

"I don't know if anyone's told you this recently," Butters takes off his sunglasses and scrubs his hand through his hair. "But you're an asshole."

"I know that," Kyle rolls his eyes. "Doesn't mean I can't be empathetic."

Butters sighs rubs his forehead.

"You're such a jerk," he murmurs.

Because, really, if he wanted to tell Kenny, he would have. Kenny doesn't like sleeping with people he likes, though. Except maybe Bebe, but she blew town the moment she turned eighteen to go to Hollywood and be an actress.

Kenny almost went with her, too. Butters managed to keep him in South Park, though, under the excuse that Karen would be devastated if he left.

Karen would have been fine; Butters knows he couldn't have handled it if Kenny had left him. So he somehow managed to convince Kenny that it was best for him to stay, that something would change if he held on long enough.

The only thing that's different is that Kenny barely scraped his way out of high school with a degree, and if he gets wasted enough he'll wax poetic about Bebe, and describe in full detail the intricacies of their sexual exploits.

It makes Butters not only hot with arousal, but sick with guilt.

"Fuck," he mutters and pushes himself up. "Your folks got anything to drink in here?"

"Um," Kyle frowns. "You're not going to go on a bender, are you? Because I don't think I can deal with that right now."

"No, I'm not goin' on a bender," Butters rolls his eyes and starts rummaging through the cupboards. "I just need a drink."

He finds a bottle of peppermint schnapps, which, while vile, will have to do. He takes a long swig, trying not to keep it on his tongue for too long, and replaces it in the cupboard before he comes back to sit beside Kyle.

"Why do we suck?" he moans and sinks low into the cushions.

"Maybe we can't help it," Kyle yawns, and ends it with a hacking cough. "Wait, why do you suck?"

"No reason," Butters hums, feeling the warmth of the schnapps bloom in his cheeks. "Wanna make out?"

"Kinda, yeah," Kyle nods. Butters nods too and without ceremony climbs onto Kyle's lap, straddling his legs as he dips down to kiss him. Kenny must have been here a long while ago, because Butters can barely taste the smoke on Kyle's tongue.

Kyle's hands don't do too much wandering, and when Butters insistently places them on his ass or in his hair or on his shoulder, they always fall back down to the couch.

"A little effort won't kill you, y'know," Butters murmurs against Kyle's lips.

"You're a bossy little shit, you know that?" Kyle returns, and with what appears to be too much effort for his scattered brains, flips them so that Butters is pressed back into the seat cushions.

That's more like it, Butters can't help but think as Kyle ducks down to nip at his jaw. He doesn't mind taking the reins every once in a while, but he likes it when people hold him down and show him what's what.

And if there's one thing Kyle loves doing, it's showing (or telling, more often) people what's what.

And maybe it's the alcohol (what little it takes to make Butters so bold), or maybe it's because Butters knows how royally fucked he is once he sees Kenny again—whatever it is, it makes him say, "I bet you suck dick like a straight boy."

Kyle looks up from where he's sucking a hickey into Butters' neck, eyes dark and lips red, and cocks one of his comically arched eyebrows.

"I do not," he defends.

"You sucked dick before?" Butters asks, and smiles when Kyle shakes his head, "Then you're on par with most straight boys, aren't you?"

Butters knows that's the last straw. Kyle pushes Butters so he's sitting up against the arm of the sofa and clumsily undoes the button and zip on his shorts. He doesn't even hesitate when he sees that Butters isn't all the way hard yet, just takes his cock in his mouth and starts sucking.

Butters sighs softly and pets over Kyle's short, fuzzy hair. It's meant to be encouraging, because his mouth does feel very nice (as most mouths do) all things considered.

"Ow!" he exclaims. "Don't use your teeth, for God's sake."

"I didn't," Kyle comes up to contest, hot breath fanning over his spit and making Butters squirm. "Don't twitch and you won't get my teeth."

"Just cover 'em up and I won't have to worry about it," Butters shoots back.

"Human beings weren't born with retractable teeth, asswipe," Kyle scowls.

"God, just shut up!" Butters whines and thrusts up into nothing. Kyle sticks out his tongue and pins Butters' hips to the cushions before he dips down and tries again. It's sloppy and not at all what Butters is used to when it comes to getting head, but Kyle tries to make up for it with sheer determination.

And it serves a purpose, so Butters can't really complain. He rides it out, moaning when he sees fit and is occasionally surprised by some swipe of Kyle's tongue or some way he moves his hand.

He gives Kyle fair warning before he comes, since it's only polite, and ends up coming all over Kyle's hand and the little strip of his stomach that sits exposed just below the rumpled hem of his t-shirt.

Butters grabs a few tissues out of the Kleenex box on the coffee table and swipes himself clean.

"Say it," says Kyle very suddenly, and Butters looks up at him.

"Say what?"

"Say I don't suck dick like a straight boy," Kyle asserts, and Butters breaks out into a grin.

"You don't suck dick like a straight boy," he says as he tucks himself back into his shorts and zips up. "That was moderately bi-curious at least."

Kyle flips him off and curls up against the other end of the couch, yawning big. Butters opens his mouth to ask if he wants at least a handjob for that, but he looks too comfy to bother. He goes to throw the tissue away, and by the time he comes back, Kyle is snoring softly into the crook of his elbow.

He hangs around and tidies up a little, like he normally does when he has nothing else to do. When Mrs. Broflovski comes back, Butters tells her that Kyle got tired from all his chores, and explains away the grassy smell with a, "Don't you just love summertime?"

**ooo**

Butters works at the supermarket, bagging up people's groceries, restocking shelves, and occasionally riding carts through the parking lot in a bright orange vest if the shift is particularly slow.

Stan finds him sweeping up in produce, whistling to himself as he most often does, and it makes his blood boil.

Butters is happy.

Well, okay he's always _happy_, but now that Stan knows that he's slept with Kyle, his happiness makes Stan want to punch him in the throat. That would be very inappropriate for the setting, Stan knows, so he just drops a lemon on the floor instead and watches as it rolls over and hits Butters' faded yellow converse.

"Oh, looks like you dropped somethin', Stan," Butters chirps and bends to grab it. Stan will say this: the guy does have a nice ass. It's almost as nice as Kyle's, but even though Butters makes more of an effort to put his on display (with his tight black pants and his refusal to wear boxers), Kyle's will always be nicer.

Stan's seen that ass countless times over the years—it is a sight to behold.

And Stan would like to hold it very much, also.

"Y'all right?" Butters asks as he holds the lemon out to Stan.

"Oh, uh," Stan clears his throat. "Yeah. Fine."

"You looked like you were on another planet there for a second," Butters jests back lightly, and Stan seems to think it's appropriate to respond with, "So, you and Kyle slept together, huh?"

Butters' eyes get big for a moment before he sighs and buries his face in his hands.

"Kyle's got a big fat mouth," he mutters.

"Kenny told me, actually," Stan says, and Butters groans.

"Fantastic," he scrubs at his face and looks at Stan, a calculating glint behind his eyes. Stan hates that look—Butters may be quiet and look docile, but he's smart. He's keenly aware of people, both of their strengths and their failings, and that's especially frightening to people who have stuff to hide.

Maybe that's why he and Kenny get along so well. Kenny is one of the most brutally honest people Stan knows.

So, Stan speaks before Butters can.

"It's cool," he says. "Um, that you and Kyle are—"

"Oh, good God, we're not anything," Butters pulls a face. "Hell, I'm only sleepin' with him 'cause he doesn't think you will."

Stan can almost _hear _the glass shatter when Butters' words hit his ears.

"Wh-what?" he asks, but Butters shakes his head.

"Know what? No," he grabs his broom. "I'm not doin' this. My shift is over in fifteen minutes, I'm gonna go home, I'm gonna _finish the book_ that your boyfriend hasn't let me finish, and I'm gonna crawl under my covers and wait for college to start, all right? I'm sick of gettin' in everyone's business, talkin' all of you down and takin' care of you when you got problems. I don't wanna hear it. If you wanna talk to Kyle about this, here's a thought: _talk to Kyle about it._"

And like that he storms off, broom in hand, muttering to himself all along the way.

"What in the hell was that?" Stan mutters to himself, only for Liane Cartman, who's browsing produce a few sections over, to shrug and say, "Beats the shit out of me, hon."


	4. Part Four

Butters keeps to his word too. He fumes through the last fifteen minutes of his shift, rides his bike home, and locks himself up in his room without a word to his parents. He doesn't even change out of his vest before he grabs his book off of his nightstand and wrenches it open to where he last left off.

This is a good book, okay? He can finish a good book in record time if no one bugs him. It's taken him a good two weeks now to get through this book, and it's because Kyle refuses to talk to Stan (or Kenny for some reason), and every time Butters goes over there, they end up screwing around.

Not that that isn't fun or anything, but _it's a really good book_.

Like there's a bat signal in the sky ("BUTTERS IS OFF WORK, HURRY!"), his phone buzzes not two seconds after Butters finishes the first paragraph. A request from Kyle to come hang out.

Butters screws up all his hostile annoyance and declines before he returns to his book.

Kyle at least doesn't pester him. He can take a hint, unlike a lot of other guys Butters has slept with in the past.

He gets about another chapter ahead before his mom comes knocking at his door. He looks over and realizes that he's still fully dressed for work, shoes and all, and at her scrutinizing glance kicks off at least those before offering her a smile.

"I'm making tea, would you like some?" she asks.

"Sure, mom," he gives her a light smile and goes back to his book.

When she doesn't leave, he looks back over at her and asks, "Everything okay?"

"I should be asking you that," she folds her arms over her chest. "You looked upset when you came home."

"I'm fine," Butters shrugs and lays the book flat on his stomach. "Just itchin' to finish this book is all. And someone dropped a watermelon today and decided to hide it behind one of the stands, so… that was annoying."

"Well, a job is a job," his mom sighs. "At least no one died."

Butters shuts his eyes and nods, "Yeah. Thanks mom."

She leaves and returns with a hot mug of tea a few minutes later. She kisses him on the forehead, tells him to take off that atrocious vest, and tells him that dinner will be ready in forty-five minutes.

That's more than enough reading time, Butters thinks to himself, and settles in to his fluffy pillows and thick duvet, feeling more relaxed already.

It doesn't last five minutes though, because his phone buzzes again and, "I swear to God, Kyle, I'm gonna smack you in your stupid face."

It's not from Kyle though, it's from Kenny.

Kenny, who knows Butters likes him now.

Kenny, who hasn't really talked to him since graduation.

Kenny, who's sweet and loving and asks things over text message like, _'have you evr been in love'_.

Butters' face lights up and he sets his book back down on his stomach, responding with shaking hands, _'What brought this on?'_

It's not another minute before he gets a response, _'can i come over'_

_'If you want to talk about Bebe, find someone else. I'm reading.'_

_'not abt Bebe, can i still come'_

Butters ignores the perfect opportunity for innuendo and replies, _'Sure. You could probably stay for dinner too if you wanted.'_

He doesn't get a response back, but the doorbell rings not long after and Butters bolts down the stairs to get it before his dad can, but he's too late. Kenny stands like a straw man in their doorway, momentarily unable to form words as he and Butters' dad look at each other.

"Uh," Butters breaks the silence. "Hey, Ken."

Kenny turns an earnest set of blue eyes on Butters and smiles broadly. "Hey, Butters," he hums back, and Butters' stomach makes a funny twist. Butters cocks his head up the stairs and Kenny follows, big bulky work boots that have to be too hot for summer tromping along behind him. When they get into his room, Butters shuts the door and leans back against it, not quite wanting to look Kenny in the eye.

"So," Kenny breaks the silence, and Butters nods.

"So."

"I, um… I brought you something," Kenny fishes something out of his threadbare sweater (it's way too hot to be wearing that, Butters thinks). It's a flower, slightly crushed from being stuffed into a pocket, a rich purple one that makes Butters' muscles seize.

"Kenny that's a columbine," Butters smacks his hand exasperatedly to his cheek. He explains upon seeing the bemused knit in Kenny's brow, "That's the state flower, it's illegal to pick those."

"'the fuck, really?" Kenny turns the flower to face him now, looking at it like it's done him some kind of wrong. "How in the shit do you regulate that?"

Butters rolls his eyes and plucks the flower from Kenny's hand. It's a nice gesture, at least, and it really is a gorgeous flower.

"Wait," he pauses then, "Wh-why're you givin' me a flower?"

"I don't know," Kenny's gaze flits down to his filthy boots. His ratty jeans are covered in grass stains and dirt, and his cheeks are pink and more freckly than usual, which makes Butters think he's spent his day rolling around in a field somewhere, seeking council from the broad blue sky as he so often does during summertime.

"You don't know?" Butters parrots back, and Kenny stuffs his hands back in his pockets, fist closing habitually around a pack of cigarettes.

"I mean—I _do _know," Kenny rolls his head from side to side, expending the excess energy that his hand won't allow. "I just don't know how to say it."

Butters' cheeks flare up; if he opens his mouth to speak, he knows his tongue won't wrap around the words properly, like he's seven and not seventeen. A stew of anticipation and nerves churns in his gut, paralyzing him as he watches Kenny's eyes flit through whatever he's trying to say.

"Um," he finally says. "I guess… I know you like me."

Adding now to the brew in his belly, a lead weight settles deep within him. Of course that's what this is about. A flower to soften the blow.

_"You're great, but not that great." _

Butters has been preparing himself for this conversation for years.

"I like you too," is what Kenny says instead, though, and Butters' entire body seizes.

"Wh-what?"

"I like you," Kenny says again. "Like you like me."

And Butters finally snaps back into himself.

"Like I like you," Butters murmurs, staring at the flower. "I don't just l-like you, though… you know that."

Kenny lets out a long breath and stares down at his feet again.

"I know," he admits. "But, like… I don't just like you either. You're my best friend, and I tell you everything. And I didn't realize that you don't tell me everything, and that was weird."

"I do tell you everything," Butters hops to his defense, but there's no bite behind it, no meaning, because above all he knows that he doesn't tell Kenny everything. Kenny doesn't know that Butters used to give Tweek handjobs in the locker room during gym to calm him down, or that he once let Craig suck him off when they were both drunk in Token's basement; he doesn't know about the boy who lives down the street from his cousins in Florida, or the guy who lives next to his aunt in Hollywood.

"I'm sorry," he sighs then and lets the flower hang by his side, twirling between his fingers. "I didn't want to mess this up. You don't even like boys all that much."

"You know that doesn't mean jack shit to me," Kenny shoots back, eyebrows furrowed. "I like you more than I like dudes, Butters. It doesn't matter what is or isn't attached to you, I—you're just, like, totally beautiful and great and I just… I don't know."

Butters lets the words soak in, weight shifting back and forth as he twirls his flower still.

"Is this only because I slept with Kyle?" he asks then.

"Not… exclusively," Kenny grabs the back of his neck, the sleeve of his sweater riding up to reveal just a hint of his inky tattoos.

Butters wants to lick all of them with his mouth.

"If no one had told you," Butters wets his lips. "A-and if I'd never said anythin', would you've ever given me a second thought like this?"

"That's not the point," Kenny gives an exasperated roll of his eyes.

"What is?" Butters shrugs, lifting the flower back up to sniff at it. "This isn't just a 'gee, I wish I could fuck him' thing, Kenny. It's… I don't know, I wanna go to the movies with you, an' go to museums an' plays with you—don't make that face, I know you love doing that stuff—and I even might think about having babies with you sometimes and –_Jesus, _Kenny, it's so much more than anything you could say to me right now. So, sorry if I don't wanna just fuck around with you."

"Who said_ I_ wanna fuck around?" Kenny asks, keeping his voice low. "Dude, you think I'd be this fucking jacked up if all I wanted to do is fuck around? I care about you. Like, real bad. And maybe I haven't known it for as long as you have, but don't be an asshole and tell me I can't care about you like that."

"Aw, Jesus," Butters boxes in his ears with his hands and crouches down beside his dresser. This is exactly what he hadn't wanted to happen. He squeezes his eyes shut and tries so, _so _hard to push all of this out of his head.

He just wanted to finish his book tonight.

That's all.

"Hey," comes Kenny's soft voice, and when Butters opens his eyes Kenny is right there in front of him, on his knees and wrapping his long fingers around Butters' thick wrists.

"You're okay," Kenny gives him a reassuring smile and runs his fingers through Butters' fine hair.

They're so close together that Butters can feel Kenny's warm breath—stale cigarettes and spicy gum—fanning over his lips, mingling with his own. Kenny's hands slide from his wrists to cup softly at his jaw, and like that he pushes their lips together.

Butters melts against it, dropping the flower onto his carpet and grabbing clumsily for any part of Kenny he can get a hold of. Kenny's lips are still rough and chapped, but warm and malleable between Butters'. That's all either of them let this first kiss be, and when they pull back and finally look at each other, they're both out of breath and smiling timidly.

They kiss again; this time Kenny licks softly into Butters' mouth, and Butters lets out a soft, pitiful whine that makes Kenny break away with a laugh.

"I like the way you kiss," he states and rests their foreheads together. "I could definitely get behind doing that."

"Yeah?" Butters' voice cracks through a laugh, and apparently it's so endearing that it gets Kenny to wrap his arms around him and kiss him again. Butters falls out of his crouch, legs splayed out as Kenny scoots forward to press them close together.

He could be this close to Kenny for the rest of his life, he thinks, and never ever be discontented again.

Then Butters' mom calls up the stairs for dinner and they spring apart. Butters swallows the lump in his throat and tells her to hang on as he scrambles to his feet.

"We should maybe talk about this," he says.

"Yeah," Kenny nods back.

"Definitely somewhere that's not here," Butters tosses his head down toward the general direction of his parents. Kenny nods and hops up, straightening out his sweater and Butters' hair before he asks, "Come with me?"

They tromp downstairs, where Butters informs his parents that he'll eat his dinner later, that Kenny needs his help and he'll be back in a little while. His dad doesn't question it, and his mom says she'll _try_ to save him a plate in the microwave, but Butters' heart is hammering too hard for him to care.

Kenny takes his hand initially to lead him away from his house, but now that they're far enough away and walking in stride with one another they're still joined there, and Butters' stomach gets all bubbly and warm.

"Y'know we're holdin' hands?" he asks. Kenny looks down to where their fingers are laced together, and gets a little pinker in the cheeks.

"Guess so," he gives Butters a smile.

"We haven't done this since we were little," Butters lifts their hands up, examining them. Kenny's fingers are long and spidery; Butters' are thick and strong, and for a minute Butters worries that he's squeezing Kenny's too tightly.

"Yeah," Kenny hums and kisses their fingers where they're slotted together. It's totally cheesy, but Butters has always been a sucker for cheesy stuff like that.

He assumes they're going to Stark's Pond, but Kenny leads them right past it. They continue on until they get to Stan's house. The windows are all dark, and before Butters can ask just what it is they're doing there, Kenny walks over to the gate and undoes the combination lock on the latch.

"Uh," Butters finally says when they're in the back yard. "All right, I'm stumped. What exactly are we doin' here?"

Kenny wordlessly points up to the tree house in the giant tree behind Stan's house.

The tree house that has been there for at least ten years.

The tree house that used to groan and creak under Eric Cartman's weight.

Butters remembers the summer that one of the planks on the trunk of the tree gave out under Eric and sent him thundering back down into the grass. He'd broken his arm and no one had really used it since—at least, not to Butters' knowledge.

"No," is all Butters says.

"Oh, come on," Kenny tugs him closer to the crude structure. "Stan and I fixed it up a couple summers ago, it's nice in there now."

"No way in hell is that thing strong enough to hold the both of us," Butters shakes his head, feet planted firmly in the grass.

"It holds me, Kyle, and Stan's big ass, don't worry," Kenny grabs onto the (admittedly) new-looking rope dangling from the platform above. "This is the way up now, though, just in case fatass ever tries to rain on our parade."

"Or me," Butters gazes up as Kenny swings back and forth on the rope. "I've got the upper body strength of a newborn, you know that."

"Well, maybe there's a rope ladder up there too," Kenny considers lightly, pausing in his wriggling around to peck a light kiss to Butters' lips. "I swear, it's nice. We put Shelly's old mattress up there."

"God, did you just make it into a sex cave?" Butters chuckles to himself, still apprehensive.

"Well, it's a tree house, not a cave, so," Kenny glances up, "no."

"Just shut up and climb before I change my mind," Butters smacks him lightly, and Kenny grins broadly. He's got some of the pointiest canine teeth Butters has ever seen on another human.

Butters would like to lick those too, he thinks, as Kenny scrambles up the rope and onto the platform. Sure enough, he lets down a little rope ladder and has to reassure Butters with every tentative step that he takes that he's not going to break anything, including himself.

It takes him entirely too long to reach the top, but once he's there Kenny gives him a congratulatory kiss, and wow, okay, Butters could definitely get used to those.

The tree house has been revamped, that much is certain. Kenny's handy with tools, and even though he still refuses to take shop classes ("because I will fucking die Butters"), he's learned enough through working odd jobs with his dad and brother to have made it nice and sturdy. They both have to walk on their knees once inside, but sure enough Shelly's old pillow top mattress takes up most of the far wall, bare except for a few pillows.

"You guys went all out," Butters whistles and sits back on the bed. "Aw come on, is that a mini-fridge?"

"Bet your sweet ass," Kenny grins as he roots around in it, extracting two beers. "Thank Christ for extension cords, or we'd be fucked."

"Or just sober," Butters offers. Kenny sticks out his tongue and sits down beside Butters, slotted warm against him, and hands him one of the cans. They pop the tops at the same time and take long, grateful drinks in silence.

"Wow, that tastes like crap," Butters hisses.

"It's all Kevin will buy me," Kenny knocks against Butters' foot with his boot. "None of us are generally all that picky."

Butters grins and takes another drink. "Now, be honest," he says. "How much dried come and vagina juice am I sitting on right now?"

A laugh explodes out of Kenny, and Butters is grateful. At least he can still make Kenny laugh—that much hasn't changed.

"I can't speak for my comrades, but I've never fucked anyone up here," Kenny confesses. "Mostly we needed the mattress up here because Stan would get so drunk that he wouldn't be able to climb back down."

"Charming," Butters rests his head back against the warm wood. It's stuffy in there, but nothing too unbearable. He still reaches over to prop open one of the wooden hatches, though. It's not quite dark yet—it probably won't be for at least another hour and a half.

When he sits back in his spot, Kenny pulls him into a kiss, beer already sour on his tongue. Butters doesn't mind so much, nor does he mind when Kenny pulls off his super market vest and toss it on the floor.

"Wait a sec," Butters pulls back. "Kenny, don't—if you're not ready to do anything—"

"Hey," Kenny pouts softly. "That's usually my line."

"Well?" Butters raises his eyebrows expectantly, and Kenny presses a kiss right to the center of his forehead.

"Are you ready?" he asks back, and Butters meets his eyes.

"I mean it, Kenny," Butters continues softly. "Don't do this to me if you'll just walk away later."

Kenny sets their beers down and presses Butters back into the mattress, warm weight against him.

"Butters Stotch, I couldn't walk away from you even if I wanted to," he says so softly that Butters almost can't hear him. He presses a light kiss to Butters' lips, "You mean so much to me, Larry."

Butters rolls his eyes as Kenny laughs _way too hard_ at what isn't even a funny joke. "_Leopold_, you jackwagon."

"Right, Leonard, that's what I said," Kenny snorts into Butters' neck, and Butters pinches him on the side.

"Such an ass."

And then Kenny silences him with a kiss, and he gets way too hot after that. Kenny's fingers brush over a patch of skin just under his work shirt, right through the fine trail of hair leading into his pants.

They go slowly, kissing between periods of roaming hands and mapping out more than they could memorize in one night. The beer colors both of their cheeks, makes them less apprehensive, makes it easier for both of them to shed their clothes when curious hands come caressing.

Kenny is the first to get naked all the way, two parts exhibitionist and one part eager, while Butters still has his pants and boxer briefs halfway on. Kenny's cock is hard and beautiful, nice and dark against the rest of him, shining at the tip with arousal.

"God, I wanna suck your cock so bad," Butters breathes (though Butters blames it mostly on the two sips of beer he's had) and Kenny grins.

"I wanna see yours first," Kenny kisses down Butters' chest, and like that he pulls the rest of his clothes off.

And they're naked together. And it's sort of wonderful and a lot frightening. Kenny is thin and lanky, pale aside from the tattoo on his left arm: the outline of a skull, empty eye sockets boring straight into Butters, with the words '_Memento Mori' _in big Gothic letters on a banner underneath.

"Wow," Kenny sits back for a moment, marveling silently. Then he draws the back of one knuckle up the length of Butters' cock and praises, "You're so fucking hot."

"Oh, _god," _Butters squirms against the barely-there touch, and groans when Kenny takes him into his hand.

"What can I do for you?" Kenny murmurs against Butters' cheek, nipping and licking over what baby fat still remains there.

"Mm, fuck me," Butters stretches languidly into the touch. Warm though it is, his nipples are hard as rocks, and gooseflesh pimples his skin.

"Yeah?" Kenny grins. "You got lube?"

"Check my pants pockets," Butters points over the side of the mattress. "Why's everyone always look at me like that?" Butters rolls his eyes as Kenny roots around in Butters' pants. "Guess what we couldn't do if I didn't think about this kinda thing."

"You're fucking incredible," Kenny smiles as he comes back with a travel size tube of lube and a condom. He pulls Butters close by his hips and Butters lets his thighs splay open. Kenny squirts lube over his fingers and slides one in Butters expertly, and then another.

"Mm, I like that," Butters arches into the touch. He moans nice and low when Kenny's fingers hit his prostate, thrusting up against the ministrations. The third finger doesn't even hurt as much as it normally does, maybe because it's Kenny, or maybe because he's just been doing so much lately that he's sort of used to it by now.

Either way, it's amazing.

He feels a little empty when Kenny retracts his fingers, and has to grab the condom from Kenny when his fingers keep slipping on the foil packet. He sits up and tears the packet open, though before he does anything he does have to get this out of the way. He shifts and takes just the tip of Kenny's cock into his mouth, earning a surprised groan.

He tastes as good as he looks.

"Sorry," Butters grins up at him, "I had to. Wanna see a trick?"

"Is that even a question?" Kenny laughs breathlessly. Butters grins back at him and places the condom in his mouth, dipping down again and rolling the condom over Kenny's cock with his lips and tongue. Not the greatest trick to do with a regular, non-flavored condom, but the yucky taste in his mouth is definitely worth the look of shocked bliss on Kenny's face.

"Where in the fuck did you learn that?"

"My days in the Navy," Butters jests back, and reclines again back against the mattress. "Come on, now. I wanna feel you inside me."

Kenny doesn't need to be told twice. He scoots forward, still dazed, and moves between Butters' legs to press his cock against his entrance. Butters sighs and lets Kenny slip inside him, head pounding with the vivid reality of it all. Kenny is inside him, pressed so deep inside him that Butters sees stars.

It's way too hot in the tree house, but even though they're both sweating and the air is thick with the smell of arousal, Butters wouldn't want it any other way. He wants to keep Kenny inside him forever, a part of him, with him forever.

"Fuck, I keep getting sweat on you," Kenny pants, eyes screwed shut. "That's nasty."

"It's okay," Butters reassures him and begs over and over, "Just go."

And then Kenny starts moving and Butters loses all conscious thought. Something deep inside him takes over, makes him wrap around Kenny and move with him, an instinct that he didn't even know he had. He's had sex before—he's even had good sex before—but nothing quite like this.

They just fit together.

Kenny builds up a good rhythm, and Butters does everything in his power to match it. Kenny hits all the right spots inside him, kisses all the right spots on his jaw and on his neck.

Then Kenny falls out of it, going so hard and fast that Butters can't do anything but whine and dig his fingernails into Kenny's shoulders. Kenny brings a hand down to stroke Butters between them, but he still comes first, groaning loudly in the small space as his hand goes still on Butters' cock.

He won't let Butters finish himself off though, as he smacks Butters' hand away when he tries. It doesn't take Butters too long to come anyway, and he wraps his legs around Kenny, holding him close as he pumps his release all over his stomach and Kenny's hand.

Butters is going to miss Kenny when he's gone from inside him, he can already tell.

Kenny doesn't linger, either. It's much too hot for that. He rolls off to the side and pulls his condom off, and Butters was right—he already misses the fullness.

Kenny lets out a 'whoop' that sounds not unlike a wolf's howl, though, and Butters giggles in his post-orgasmic haze.

"You're ridiculous," Butters murmurs.

"You're sexy as fuck," Kenny returns and kisses his cheek. "I can't decide if I'm elated, or if I'm pissed. Because we could've been doing that for _years_."

"No, 'cause then I would've learned that condom trick on _you_, and accidentally bitten _you_ instead of my cousin's neighbor," Butters stretches and turns to face Kenny. "I'd rather have bit him than you."

"Vicious," Kenny beams and comes forward to peck a kiss to his lips.

"That's me," Butters snorts. "You think Stan'll freak out if we take a nap for a while?"

"Probably not," Kenny yawns, and Butters returns. "Stay on your side, though, I'm sweating bullets over here."

Butters hums in agreement, and lets his eyes slip shut, sleep coming so much easier knowing Kenny is beside him.


	5. Part Five

Kyle only hears about it because Butters says he can't come over anymore.

He's with Kenny now, and their happiness is really starting to grate on Kyle's last nerve.

Mostly because they're _fucking disgusting_.

Stan is down in Denver with Randy for the day, pretending to be interested in whatever Randy has planned for them, while Kyle is stuck at Stark's Pond by himself, trying to knock off one of the books on his reading list before he gets to school.

Kenny and Butters were there when Kyle parked himself on the bench, skipping stones off the dock, talking and occasionally taking breaks to make out right there in plain sight. Kyle can't hear their conversation from where he is, nor does he care to. They invite him over a few times but he refuses so that he can stare mindlessly at the pages of his book.

Things have been strange with Stan lately. Maybe it's because Kyle has finally admitted his feelings to himself, maybe it's seeing Butters and Kenny so happy together.

Whatever it is, it's definitely starting to make Kyle more irritable than usual.

"Whatcha got there?" Kenny finally comes up and asks. He and Butters are holding hands, which makes Kyle's blood boil in the already too-warm weather.

"None of your fucking business," Kyle clips back.

"Aw, no need to be so grumpy," Butters tuts, and the only reason Kyle doesn't tell him to fuck off is because he knows Kenny will kick his ass.

"Just trying to enjoy some nineteenth century Russian literature in the scorching sun, kids," Kyle grumbles.

"'the fuck, I thought you were into—wait, what are you into?"

"Check the handkerchief in my back pocket," Kyle snarks back, and supposes he should have expected Kenny to hoist him up and check for one.

"Would you get off of me?" Kyle flails and finally wriggles out of Kenny's grip, shirt rucked up and reading glasses askew. "What is wrong with you?"

"Just having a little fun," Kenny holds his hands up.

"Cut that shit out," Kyle rights his shirt, Tolstoy forgotten in the grass. "Fun is awful."

"Kyle, are you okay?" Butters asks, face screwed up in a funny way that makes Kyle want to punch it.

"I'm fucking fine, both of you!" he snaps and grabs his book from the ground.

Kenny shoots him a look that doesn't placate him so much as scare him into submission. He fixes his glasses and holds up his book. "I have to finish this and write an essay on it by the first day of class," he says calmly. "Because apparently this professor thinks I have nothing better to do with my summer than read _War and _goddamned fucking_ Peace_."

And it wouldn't be so infuriating if he was alone. Or at Stan's house while Stan eats Cheesy Poofs and plays Halo.

At least then he could smell Stan's soap on his skin and ruffle up his hair like he sometimes likes to do, just to have an excuse to touch him.

"Never mind," he finally sighs. "I'm going to go back home and talk to some Assassin's Creed about this."

He doesn't get two feet toward his house before Kenny is beside him, arm draped around his shoulder as they walk.

"This could all go away, you know," he says.

"Fuck off," Kyle bites back.

"Just talk to Stan, you idiot," Kenny rolls his eyes.

"Why, so we can dry hump in public?" Kyle asks.

"Butters and I don't dry hump in public," Kenny defends. "It's so fucking hot, it's like a goddamned swamp down there."

"Okay," Kyle starts walking faster. "We're done here."

"It's not the end of the world," Kenny calls after him, but he doesn't follow. Just as well, since Kyle is about one more, "Hey there!" away from ripping someone a new asshole.

By the time he gets back home, he's just hot and disgruntled enough to plop down in front of the giant oscillating fan with Ike. Ike is barely thirteen, but he looks about three years older—he started shooting up like a weed not long ago, limbs sprouting out every which way, hands and feet massive and clumsy.

He and Kyle both move side to side with the fan, neither speaking until their mom comes in from the kitchen and puts a hand over her chest.

"Just like you looked when you were boys," she chokes up, and Kyle and Ike both roll their eyes in unison. They groan openly when she snaps a picture of them with her phone.

Who taught her how to use technology anyway?

When she goes back outside to tend to her garden, Ike finally looks over and asks, "What's your issue?"

"Mom and dad wanted another child," Kyle clips back and lets his eyes slip shut.

"Oh no, my fragile adolescent psyche," Ike drones. "What ever will I do."

"Build a bridge and get right on over it," Kyle offers, and is pleased to discover that this buys him a few moments of silence. If he believed in meditation, he thinks this might be it—eyes shut, with nothing but the sound of his breathing, the fan, and the lawnmower across the street to keep him occupied.

"Is this about Stan?"

"Jesus fucking Christ!" Kyle snaps. "Will everyone get off of my dick about that?"

"Who's on your dick?" Ike asks. "You're pissy, and it's usually because of Stan."

"What do you want me to say," Kyle moves still with the fan. "That I want to bend my best friend over a table and fuck him until he can't walk right? If you want feelings you might have to give me a few weeks' notice."

"Automaton Kyle," Ike nods understandingly, "My favorite incarnation of you, to be honest."

"Goddamn it."

"Robots can have feelings too," Ike points out. "I don't know if they get boners for their best friends, though."

Kyle pauses in his attempt to become one with the universe to punch Ike on the back.

"I guess you haven't thought about talking to Stan," Ike continues, voice strained.

"Thought about it, yes," Kyle responds. "Execution will not be happening."

"Why?" Ike asks. "'cause you're a pussy?"

Kyle rolls his eyes and pushes himself up to his feet. He's done with being harassed, he thinks, and if he hits Ike again he knows their mom will get involved, so he abstains. He climbs the stairs to his room and abandons the book on his desk, too wound up to read.

He flops down on his bed and hugs his pillow to his chest. Mostly, he's too wound up to do anything, even nap. Not that he naps a lot to begin with, but even so. He opens up his window, since it's much cooler outside than it is upstairs, and turns over to stare at his ceiling.

He would talk to Stan about anything else. He's talked to Stan about his crushes on girls, about what he's done with girls; he's even talked to Stan about his drinking without batting an eyelash, without the hesitance everyone else had exhibited.

"Fuck," he mutters to himself and rolls over to look out the window.

He has to tell Stan, doesn't he? He has to bite the bullet and just _tell him_.

Goddamn it, he hates it when other people are right.

But he can't just let this fester. He can't spend the last two months he has in South Park living with whatever sickening feeling this is in his stomach.

He shuts his eyes and ends up falling asleep before he can text Stan to ask when he'll be back home.

**oo**

It's dark when he wakes up.

The smell of dinner still hangs in the air, even up here. Kyle's head throbs as he pushes himself up and rubs his hands over his face. He can't recall his dream, but he knows he's hard and he knows it's because Stan was probably in his dream.

Out of habit, Kyle ignores the insistent arousal in his pants and instead readjusts himself. He doesn't like jerking off right when he wakes up anyway, but the fiery nerves in his brain wouldn't let him if he wanted to anyway.

He has to tell Stan.

That's the only thing he's sure of as he rolls to his feet and scratches his fingers through his hair.

He has to tell Stan.

He waits for his erection to go down before he opens his door and pads down the stairs. His parents are on the couch watching TV with Ike; when they ask him where he's going, he just says that he'll be back later, takes his keys, and heads toward Stan's house.

He has to tell Stan, even if—Kyle swallows the bile in the back of his throat—even if it means that he loses his best friend.

Kyle shakes it out of his brain. He and Stan have been through weirder shit and still been friends on the other side. They can make it through this, it'll just be a little awkward for a while.

Right?

Kyle rounds the corner that marks the halfway point between his and Stan's houses and comes face to face with—of course—Stan.

"Oh," Stan stumbles back a few steps. "Hey, dude. I was just coming to see you."

That shouldn't make Kyle's stomach twist up in the way that it does.

"Same," is all he can say back. "Um, is your mom home?"

"No, she's on a date," Stan stuffs his hands in his shorts pockets. "Just me tonight."

"Okay, let's go to your place," Kyle nods, turning him by the shoulders back toward his house. "My parents will eavesdrop like crazy."

Kyle realizes that that says probably more than he intended, and Stan picks up on it too. Kyle swears he sees him blush out of the corner of his eye as they make the short walk back.

The moment they're in Stan's house with the door shut behind them, Kyle doesn't give Stan a moment before he starts in with, "So I'm in love with you."

Not very graceful, and Stan's eyes are about the size of dinner plates now, but at least it's out there and—fuck it all—everyone was right _again. _

He does kind of feel better.

"Are you fucking kidding me?" Stan asks.

"Yeah, Stan," Kyle rolls his eyes. "Doesn't this sound like the kind of thing I'd fuck around with?"

Stan's eyebrows furrow together, "You know, if you want this to go even remotely well, you might with to drop the whole 'dick' thing."

Kyle opens his mouth to retort, but quickly snaps it back shut when Stan shoots him a look.

"You're in love with me?" Stan asks, eyebrows high on his forehead. "Not just, 'you love me'? _In _ love?"

"In love, Stan, yeah," Kyle nods, and when Stan blinks at him, demanding an explanation, Kyle throws up his hands and continues, "I don't know, dude. It just… _happened_. I don't know how, but like. You're my best friend, dude, and I guess one day you started making my dick hard. And when I think about it, you're the only person I ever want to be around anyway, so it just kind of fits? I don't know. I've always loved you and now I'm _in _love with you and if you don't want to talk to me for a while, I get it. It's pretty fucking weird."

Kyle pulls back, dizzy and breathless with unexpected confession, and leans against the couch.

"_In_ love," Stan reiterates.

"Yes,_ in_ love!" Kyle clips back. "Fuck!"

"I'm in love with you too," Stan says then, and suddenly all the ire is gone from Kyle's body.

_Oh_.

Well then.

"Are you serious?" Kyle asks, but Stan only needs to give him another look before he realizes that, yeah, Stan is serious.

"Fuck," Kyle laughs then and runs his fingers through his hair. He wants to grab onto it, but it's still too short—that's the only thing he misses about his curls.

"Yeah," Stan nods back and shoves his hands in his pockets again. "Um… what do we do?"

"I don't know," Kyle shrugs. "What do you want to do?"

They look at each other for about two seconds before they fly forward and smash their lips together. Kyle's nose is way too big and knocks awkwardly against Stan's, but that doesn't deter them. Their hands roam over each other's bodies, both grabbing maybe a little too hard and eventually losing their balance.

Stan topples back onto the couch and pulls Kyle down with him, both of them laughing as they fall together. Kyle hasn't smiled this big in a long time, part with relief and part with seeing just how broadly Stan smiles back at him.

"Oh, my god," Stan lets out a delirious laugh and wraps his arms around Kyle's shoulders. "I've wanted to do this for so long."

"Really?" Kyle asks. "I thought you… I thought you liked girls."

"I thought you did too," Stan shoots back, and Kyle shrugs.

"Fair enough," he says and dips back down to kiss him. Stan's lips are nice and soft, and feel good between Kyle's. They shift into a more comfortable position, legs intertwined and teeth snagging where they're too impatient to be careful.

"Wait, wait," Stan pulls back, big hands splayed over Kyle's chest. He goes glassy-eyed at that, and murmurs, "_Fuck_. Do you—should we go slow?"

"Do you want to?" Kyle asks, sitting up slightly. That's probably something he should have anticipated, but if they've never done this before—

"Not really," Stan cuts him off. "Do you?"

"Fuck no," Kyle chuckles and brushes Stan's dark hair off of his forehead. "Do you have, um… stuff?"

"Stuff?" Stan laughs back, and Kyle sticks his tongue out. He pushes his hands up Stan's shirt and caresses the warm skin there. He knew Stan was fit—he's been on a sports team ever since he was a kid—but with every dip his fingers catch, with every small whine of satisfaction that comes out of Stan's throat, Kyle gets more and more aroused.

He pulls Stan's shirt off and Stan does the same to Kyle, both of them giggling at how their heads and limbs get tangled together. Kyle makes such a violent twist that he ends up on the floor, laughing so hard that his stomach hurts.

"Oh my god, you're such a fucktard," Stan laughs back and slides onto the floor with him. He has a light smattering of dark hair over his chest, and a thick trail of dark hair leading into the waistband of his jeans.

It makes Kyle's throat go dry.

"Off," he commands, and crawls on top of Stan's legs, pinning him down as he undoes his fly, and Stan does the same for him.

Then they're naked and it's strange.

Strange because it's _not all that strange_.

They've been naked around each other before. Granted, they've never had massive raging boners when they were naked around each other, but that's what makes it even better.

"Fuck," Stan breathes. "You're, like… sexy, dude."

"You too," Kyle nods, and crawls forward to kiss him again. It's a little more tender than the ones before. This one makes his heart skip a beat, makes Stan follow when he pulls back.

Kyle's heart hurts from beating so hard, and he thinks that if he's going to have a heart attack, he may as well have one now.

Stan scoots closer toward Kyle and brings him into another kiss, heat radiating off of him and making Kyle dizzy again. He kisses Kyle all over his face and jaw, down his neck and over his chest, licking over Kyle's nipples, one and then the other, and it's making Kyle's limbs twitch.

"You wanna fuck me?" Stan asks, looking up at Kyle with his puppy dog eyes, and Kyle lets out a low whine.

And then he reaches down to stroke over Kyle's cock and the whine strangles itself in Kyle's throat.

"You ever done that before?" he hiccups.

"No," Stan shifts. "But I want you to do that for me. I want you inside me."

Kyle gulps, reaching up to cup Stan's face with trembling hands. "I don't wanna hurt you or anything, dude, I—I'm not exactly an expert at this, dude."

"I know," Stan nods, "I trust you, though."

If Kyle's heart doesn't explode from that, it won't explode from anything.

"Lube?" Kyle asks, and Stan has him wait there while he scrambles to the downstairs bathroom and returns with a bottle of unscented plain hand lotion.

"Good?" he offers.

"If it's good enough for your ass, it's good enough for me, dude," Kyle lets out an incredulous laugh. "Um, I'll be careful."

"I know you will," Stan's lips quirk up in a smile, and it makes Kyle surge forward and kiss him again.

It's nice to be able to kiss Stan when he wants, even if he's not quite used to it yet.

He gulps as Stan lies back and spreads his legs, offering himself up to Kyle like a feast laid out before him. Before he does anything, Kyle crawls over him and kisses him everywhere he can get his lips on, all the way down to Stan's stomach.

Then he takes Stan's cock in his hand.

And then takes the tip into his mouth and sucks softly. Stan whines above him and places a hand on the back of Kyle's head.

_Suck dick like a straight boy_… Butters can kiss his ass. He bobs his head and tries a few things that Butters seemed to like, but it seems to have triple the effect on Stan. He pants and writhes against Kyle's ministrations, and thrusts up a little too sharply a few times and makes Kyle choke.

"Sorry," Stan moans. "Fuck, I'm sorry."

"It's okay," Kyle coughs, throat a little sore. "You want me to, um-?"

"Yeah," Stan nods, and Kyle thanks whatever deity might be up there that there's a human on the planet he doesn't have to explain every last one of his thoughts to.

Kyle squeezes some of the lotion into his hand and warms it between his palms before slathering his fingers. He gulps, the taste of Stan still on the back of his tongue, and presses a finger inside Stan's impossibly tight heat.

"Fuck, dude," he swallows again. "This doesn't hurt?"

"Kinda," Stan says, "But I like it. I've done it to myself before a few times."

"Yeah?" Kyle's finger inadvertently speeds up.

"Yeah," Stan nods quickly. "Feels good. Gimme another."

Kyle complies, and Stan tosses his head back against the worn carpet. Kyle works his fingers in and out of him, and even though he doesn't believe Stan when he says he can take another one he definitely can.

"You sure this doesn't hurt?" Kyle asks, even though his lips and tongue don't feel quite like they're keeping up.

"No," Stan groans back in a way that isn't entirely convincing. "God, I want you so bad, dude. Fuck me, _please_."

Kyle gulps, "Okay. You have a condom or anything?"

"Can't wait," Stan shakes his head. "Do you care?"

The logical part of Kyle's brain knows he shouldn't be shaking his head. The logical part of him knows he shouldn't be slicking up his erection without a condom, but the logical part of his brain isn't in right now. Instead he lines himself up against Stan's entrance and slips in as carefully as he can help.

Stan pulls him down once he's fully seated, kissing him haphazardly all over his face. It feels like forever until Stan tells him to move, but when he does it's like—everything good Kyle has ever experienced wrapped up in one.

Kyle rolls his hips into Stan, and Stan rolls back against him, all sorts of sweet noises pouring out of him as they move together. Kyle can't keep his thoughts straight—his entire world, his entire being devolves into Stan.

Not that it always hasn't been Stan.

Not that it always won't be.

"Fuck," Kyle hides his face in Stan's neck. "I'm gonna come."

He's quick to follow, rolling into Stan probably a little too hard, but Stan just tosses his head back and groans so loudly it reverberates off of the crystal in the cabinet by the TV. Kyle has just enough sense to pull out and finish on the inside of Stan's leg, hoping that will at least count for some preventative measures (but knowing full well that it doesn't).

His whole brain has gone fuzzy, thoughts backed up for miles; he only opens his eyes when he feels Stan shake beneath him, and realizes that he hasn't come yet, that he's still hard, and that he's jerking himself off.

"Ah, fuck," Kyle slips down Stan's body with a wince and removes his hand. He enjoys the whimper that pours out of him just a little too much and asks with a dopey grin. "Wanna come in my mouth?"

"Hell yeah," Stan laughs, and with a final smile Kyle dips and closes his lips around him again. Stan writhes beneath him, trying to grip at his hair, at the carpet, at anything he can find. He comes without warning on the end of a low, throaty groan, and Kyle swallows back as much as he can until he's overcome by a coughing fit.

There's come all over his chin, he knows it, and he knows that's why Stan's laughing so hard. In retaliation, Kyle grabs Stan's shirt from where it lies draped over the coffee table and wipes his face clean.

"Aw—_Aw, _come on, dude," Stan chuckles breathlessly. "Uncool."

Kyle almost comes back with something snarky, but he looks down and sees a mix of come, lotion and—his heart stops—_blood_.

"Dude, shit," he inspects more closely. "Shit, are you okay?"

"I'm so fucking awesome, I can't even tell you," Stan laughs back. "We fucked. Like, I could die now and be happy."

"Doesn't this hurt?" Kyle croaks and then tries to clear his throat.

"Yeah, but it feels awesome," Stan hums. "Like I'm yours, y'know? And you made my ass bleed, so obviously you're my bitch forever."

Kyle tosses his come shirt at Stan's face, and laughs when Stan throws it back at him. He lies down beside Stan and brings him into a kiss, another of the heart-stoppingly tender variety.

"I love you," he repeats, and Stan smiles back at him.

"I love you too," he murmurs and kisses the tip of Kyle's nose.

"God, keep my nose out of this," Kyle turns his head.

"Hey, I like your nose," Stan chuckles and kisses him there again. "Fuck, my back's gonna be all sorts of torn up, isn't it?"

Kyle raises an eyebrow, and then realizes that Stan was rutting fast against the wiry, worn carpet beneath them. "Oh, fuck… probably. Do you, like, an ice pack or something?"

"Nah, I kinda just wanna lie here until I can muster up the will to move," Stan yawns. "Just wake me up if you hear my mom come home."

Kyle chuckles and wraps himself around Stan.

This is right, this is good.

His world could be Stan for the rest of his life and he'd never be upset.


End file.
